


Good as New

by Askellie (NadaNine)



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Broken Bones, Gore, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Horror, Imprisonment, M/M, Torture, Violence, yandere underswap sans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 03:18:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15161363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NadaNine/pseuds/Askellie
Summary: Papyrus wakes up, sick and confused. There's a dozen missed calls on his phone from some stranger looking for 'Stretch', and he's starting to think he's forgotten something very important. Thankfully he's got his brother around to take care of him until he can figure it out.





	Good as New

**Author's Note:**

> My entry for [@undertailfanficcontest](undertailfanficcontest.tumblr.com), in the GORE category! BD Mind the warnings, although this didn’t end up quite as extreme as I wanted.

Papyrus woke up violently, wrenchingly ill.

He barely had the forethought to roll over on his mattress to save himself from choking on the thick, acidic bile that flooded his mouth with such force he could feel the tide of it crest up behind his eyes and pour out from his eye-sockets and nasal cavity as well. Barely able to catch his breath after the first wave, he let out a pained sob as he heaved again, curdled magic splattering over the edge of his mattress and pooling on the floor. The golden tint and thick texture made it look disturbingly like his favourite condiment, but the smell was sour and acrid like a burned-out battery.

There was a gentle knock on his door. “Papy? Are you all right?”

Papyrus couldn’t even manage an answer, helplessly coughing up more of the putrid liquid. The noise must have alarmed Sans, because the door cracked open tentatively to reveal his brother’s wide, blue eyelights blown out in distress.

“Oh Papy!” The door was thrown open the rest of the way, and Sans rushed to his side, gloved hands resting bracingly on Papyrus’s shoulders. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

Papyrus took a few ragged breaths, bracing himself, but thankfully the worst of it seemed to have passed. The inside of his skull was tingling unpleasantly, making him dizzy, and the smell was almost enough to make him throw up again. “G-guess so, bro. S’ry.”

He made a dazed, clumsy attempt to wipe off his mouth on his sleeve. Sans cried out in protest, batting his hands away. “Don’t do that, Papy, you’re getting it everywhere. Don’t worry, I’ll go run a bath for you, and then I’ll come back and clean this up, okay? The Magnificent Sans will take care of you!”

Papyrus nodded woozily. “‘Kay. Thanks.”

He practically collapsed onto his pillow as Sans bustled from the room, tutting in concerned sympathy. At times like these, Papyrus was extremely grateful for his brother; without him, Papyrus probably would have just continued to lay in puddles of his own vomit, whimpering and wishing for death. Stars, he felt awful. Even the inside of his ribs felt slimy and gross. Suddenly struck by a dreadful suspicion, he laboriously dragged up his hoodie and undershirt. Sure enough his soul was manifested and throbbing painfully, more splatters of putrid magic dripping down the underside of his sternum and through his intercostal spaces. If even his core was venting magic, he must be well and truly ill.

“Fuuuck,” he groaned pitifully, curling into a ball of misery. Distantly, he could hear the sound of running water, so hopefully Sans would be back soon. Papyrus almost couldn’t stand himself, he felt so disgusting and rank.

A rude buzzing sounded from under his pillow. Papyrus shut his sockets, tempted to ignore it, but at the same time he desperately needed a distraction from his own discomfort. He scrabbled around until he found his phone, dragging it out and blinking warily at its small screen. Despite how long it had taken him to find it, it was still ringing, though the caller was an unknown number. Faintly curious, he answered it.

“Stretch! Holy fuck, where the hell are you!? Are you okay!?”

Papyrus frowned, disappointed. “Wrong number…m’name’s not Stretch.”

“Wait-!”

Papyrus hung up with a deep sigh and tossed the phone aside. Almost immediately it started buzzing again, the noise insistent and grating. It aggravated the angry static in Papyrus’s skull, making it throb.

What a jerk, he thought uncharitably, clutching a hand to his temple and burying his face back into the pillow. Stop fucking calling.

Though if he hadn’t been feeling so awful, he might have been more sympathetic. The voice on the phone had sounded anxious, frantic even. Whoever they were looking for must have been in some serious trouble.

The sound of running water tapered off, and shortly afterwards light footsteps sounded across the carpet. “Who’s that, Papy?”

Papyrus looked up to see Sans peering intently towards his phone. He made a dismissive gesture. “No idea.”

His hoarse voice made Sans frown at him in sympathy. “Okay, brother, let’s get you cleaned up!”

It was always an impressive, if slightly ludicrous sight whenever Sans picked up his much taller brother, but the small skeleton was stronger than his delicate frame suggested after all the training he’d done with Alphys. Sans’s grip was solid and sure. Papyrus sighed and went limp, content to slump passively until he absolutely needed to move.

He could tell the moment they entered the bathroom even without opening his sockets. The air was warm, wet and welcoming. The heat was a balm on his joints which were aching from the violent loss of his magic. Sans set him down on the floor, ensuring Papyrus was comfortable by cushioning his tailbone with a towel, and steadying the taller skeleton when he threatened to swoon.  

Sans knelt down beside him and tugged at his clothes. “Let’s get these off, okay Papy?”

Papyrus nodded numbly, agreeably letting Sans peel away his hoodie and undershirt, but hesitated when his brother tried to reach for his shorts. “I can…bro, let me-”

“Don’t be silly, Papy, you’re sick!” Sans easily swatted aside Papyrus’s feeble attempt to block him. “Just let me take care of everything.”

It was a tempting offer, but even the part of Papyrus that wanted to go along with it couldn’t prevent him from feeling faintly mortified as Sans tugged his shorts down, leaving him naked. He shameful pulled his legs up, folding them in front of his pelvis, and tried to hide the dripping mess inside his ribcage with his arms. Being made entirely of bone didn’t give him much surface area to hide with, and Sans just gave him a frank, amused look.

“It’s fine, Papy. There’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Sans had been his one and only caretaker for as much of Papyrus’s life as he could recall, and had undoubtedly helped his baby brother wash and dress when he’d been too young to do it himself. When Sans wanted to tease him, he’d bring up those days with exaggerated fondness, talking about what an adorable little babybones Papyrus had been, all clumsy limbs and gap-toothed smiles. Papyrus didn’t remember any of it clearly enough to find anything about the current situation nostalgic or comfortable. He squirmed uneasily when Sans picked him up again, and was immensely relieved when his brother lowered him into the steaming bath water, granting him some modesty beneath the water.

The heat on his bones was soporific. He blinked slowly, trying to figure out if he had the energy to clean himself, or if he was just going to surrender to sleep. Sans clearly guessed his train of thought, because he tutted sympathetically and began peeling off his gloves. “It’s okay, brother, you don’t have to worry about a thing. I said I’d take care of you.”

“You don’t have to…” Papyrus blushed, realising Sans’s intention as the smaller skeleton began rolling up his sleeves and reached for the washcloth. Papyrus tried to intercept him, but his movements were slow and sluggish, hands weak. “I can do it.”

“Nonsense!” Sans’s eyes sparkled with perhaps a little too much enthusiasm. He leaned over Papyrus, one hand on his brother’s sternum to hold him in place. “Just relax.”

Papyrus gave a stifled gurgle of discontent, but it was easier to just lie back and let his brother do what he wanted. Sans started on his skull, scrubbing away the magic crusting on his chin and around his sockets. He was gentle but thorough, careful to wriggle the cloth into the crevices behind Papyrus’s jawbone and under his nasal ridge. Papyrus sighed, grateful to have the gritty feeling sluiced away.

“See, isn’t that better?” Sans asked, smiling down at his brother.

“Yeah,” Papyrus agreed drowsily, slowly going limp. Sans made a pleased noise, rewarding Papyrus with a brief clack of teeth against his temple before moving on with the washcloth.

The softness of the cloth against his cervical vertebrae ticked, eliciting a small whine of protest that Sans pointedly ignored. Thankfully it lasted only a moment before Sans’s attention shifted to his ribcage. Sans hesitated, and for a moment proprietary nearly reasserted itself enough for Papyrus to fluster and insist upon cleaning himself, but then Sans was carefully guiding the cloth under his sternum. Papyrus sucked in a sharp breath, arching slightly into the pressure. It felt weird, having someone else touching those delicate, private places that never saw much contact even from himself, but not in an entirely bad way. A soft groan escaped him when Sans stroked along one of his intercostal spaces. Sans was blushing too. Papyrus desperately wanted to blame it on the heat of the bath water.

“Y-you’re doing very well, Papy!” Sans reassured him with only a little quaver. “Just a bit more.”

The slow, methodical circles made by the cloth seemed to continue for an absurd amount of time, but also ended far too quickly. Sans finally pulled his hands out of Papyrus’s ribcage, carefully avoiding his swollen, tender soul. Thankfully it seemed to have stopped secreting for the moment, although it still twitched visibly from the illicit excitement of Sans’s touch. Thankfully Sans was too polite to comment on it.

“All done,” Sans said. Did he sound…disappointed? Papyrus tried to read his brother’s expression, but it was hard when Sans’s eyes were cast downward. He almost misread Sans’s expression as shame before he realised his brother was inspecting Papyrus’s pelvis and legs beneath the water. “Now for the rest of you!”

“No!” Papyrus yelped, drawing his legs up defensively. At Sans’s surprised expression, he hastily added, “Uh, those parts didn’t really get dirty. It’s fine, bro, I really just wanna go lie down again. Still not feeling great.”

“Okay Papy,” Sans agreed placidly. “Maybe next time.”

Papyrus was almost surprised it was that easy, and then wondered why that should surprise him. Wait…next time? He barely had a moment to register the words before Sans was gathering him up, hauling him out of the bath and setting him down on a plush towel.

“It’s gonna take me a little while to clean your room,” Sans apologised as he grabbed a second towel, insistently waving Papyrus’s hands away as he began patting down his brother’s bones himself. “You can stay in mine for a while, okay?”

“Thanks, bro. You’re the best.” Papyrus tried for a bracing smile, hating the way his soul quivered as Sans buffed the towel along his limbs in a way that felt borderline inappropriate. He was just feeling sensitive, he reasoned, and the attention Sans was giving him was a relieving contrast to the way nausea still roiled in his gut.

When he was mostly dry (more so than he would have bothered with himself – Sans insisted he would only get more sick if he didn’t take care of himself) Sans unceremoniously picked him up again. Papyrus twisted awkwardly, still discomfitingly naked. “Uh…”

“I’ll need to wash your clothes too,” Sans told him, heading for his bedroom.

“At least bring me a shirt or something, bro,” Papyrus complained, clinging to his brother’s shoulders and burying his heated face in Sans’s neck.

Sans laughed. “You’re being silly, brother. But I will bring you up some medicine. I have something that should help.”

Papyrus grumbled indistinctly, trying not to feel disproportionately embarrassed as Sans carried him to the bed and diligently tucked him in. The sheets were cool and smooth, clean, unlike Papyrus’s own. They smelled of lavender and bones, which normally Papyrus would have found comforting but something about the scent seemed to offend his nasal cavity. He clutched his chest, swallowing hard.

“Maybe a bucket too, bro,” Papyrus said weakly. The last thing he wanted was to make another mess in Sans’s room.

Sans eyed him worriedly, but swiftly scuttled from the room in search of the requested items. Papyrus sagged against the pillow, feeling sweat already condensing on his skull in response to the anxious twisting in his soul. How he could escalate from feeling perfectly fine the night before to feeling like death warmed over now just boggled his mind.

He had been feeling fine, right? He…couldn’t really remember all that well. Trying to wind back his memories of the last couple of hours made an inexplicable ache pierce through his skull, like his mind was painfully rejecting the attempt. Maybe he’d had nightmares again last night. Made sense, if he’d been getting sick.

Sans came back with a bucket in one hand, and a small bottle and spoon in the other. He put the former down at the bedside, easily within Papyrus’s reach, and then carefully measured out a generous portion from the bottle. The liquid was dark, like ink, and if there had ever been a label on the bottle it must have worn away because the small vial was unmarked.

“Open wide, Papy,” Sans cajoled him with playful babybones speak, probably trying to lighten the mood. Papyrus rolled his eyes minutely, but obligingly let Sans feed it to him, cringing visibly when the medicine hit his tongue. It tasted sour and salty, burning his tastebuds before leaving numbness in its wake.

“Huh,” he mumbled thickly, feeling a peculiar lightness in his bones. It felt like he was floating off the bed. “Strong shtuff.”

Sans laughed. “You should feel better soon, but promise me you’ll stay in bed, okay?”

Papyrus nodded woozily, flopping back against Sans’s pillows. He had no idea why he would ever want to move. Everything felt nice, fuzzy and soft against his naked bones.

“I’ll just clean up, and then I need to go see Alphys about a few things,” Sans mused, though perhaps more to himself than to Papyrus. He didn’t seem to expect any reply as he stroked the top of Papyrus’s skull, petting him gently. “I’ll be back for you soon, Papy.”

Papyrus mumbled a vague agreement, already half-unconscious. He could barely feel the unpleasant ache in his bones or the throbbing pain simmering in the back of his skull. The only part that didn’t fully leave him was the nauseous tension in his soul. Every time he breathed in, the lavender-and-bones scent made it clench uneasily. Even in his sleep he couldn’t seem to escape it entirely, and though he couldn’t discern how long it had been since Sans had left him, it wasn’t long until he was fumbling for the bucket, bringing up another revolting mouthful of magic.

There were splatters of inky black alongside the orange. Some of the medicine had come back up too. He groaned, hoping that wouldn’t impact its effectiveness too badly, barely coherent enough to wipe his mouth on the corner of a sheet before dropping back into a drugged slumber.

It was several hours later before he roused again, the traces of bile in his mouth having gone rancid, his throat desperately parched. He grumbled weakly, hoping that maybe if he made enough noise, Sans would come back and rescue him from dehydration, but judging from the silence in the house, his brother must still be out. Papyrus would have to either suffer quietly or take care of it himself.

After a few more minutes of procrastination, he decided that his mouth really tasted too disgusting to endure for any longer. He felt only marginally better – not nearly as much as he’d hoped. Sans’s medicine was good for knocking him out, but not for the rest of what ailed him, it seemed. Sighing deeply, he arduously dragged himself out of bed, only belatedly realising Sans had never brought him that shirt. After a moment of indecision, he dragged the cover off Sans’s bed and clumsily wrapped it around himself before stumbling out of the room.

There was a lot of quite literal stumbling. His thoughts still felt slow and stupid, and his co-ordination was completely off. He nearly took a nasty fall on the stairs, tripping on the blanket and smacking his patella against the banister. He hissed unhappily, moving at a slow, clumsy shuffle until he made it to the kitchen, where he decided to forgo a glass entirely and simply shoved his head into the sink, drinking thirstily from the pouring faucet. From that awkward pose he nearly ended up dislocating his jaw when a strange thrum of sound stirred ominously from behind him.

He looked around, bewildered. Was he hearing things? No, there it was again; a low, muffled rattle coming from the corner of the room, but the only thing over there was the trash can. Had the dog gotten inside again? Normally it went for Sans’s collection of bones under the sink, but it might have found something interesting in the trash. Sighing heavily, he limped over and lifted the lid, face screwing up in disgust as he realised the top layer must have been what Sans used to clean up his room with. He shifted through it tentatively, startling and swearing as something unseen rattled against his fingers. He managed to find a grip on it and dragged it out, holding it at arms length.

It wasn’t the dog. It was a phone. His phone, in fact, although looking much worse for wear. It looked like it had been stepped on. There was a crack across the screen, the casing crumpled and shattered across the middle, and three of the buttons had fallen off. Papyrus frowned, dismayed. Sans must have broken it while cleaning up. Funny he hadn’t said anything, but maybe he hadn’t wanted to upset Pap while he was sick.

The phone buzzed suddenly in his fingers. It didn’t look like it should still be able to work, but the screen flickered weakly to life to display a glitching line of text.

82 M&S$ED MES%AGE#

That was an insane amount of missed messages, considering it had only been a couple of hours since he last checked his phone. Surely Sans wouldn’t have been calling if he’d known the phone was broken. It took several presses to get the buttons to work, but when he scrolled to the call history, every entry was from that same unknown number from earlier. Bemused, Papyrus thoughtlessly hit redial, and was shocked when his phone actually connected the call albeit with a few disturbing pops and hisses from the speaker. The stranger picked up immediately.

“Stars, Stretch, please tell me that’s you.”

“I told you, my name’s not Stretch,” Papyrus grumbled, annoyed. Was this asshole still trying to get through to his friend?

To his shock, though, the gruff caller immediately back-pedaled. “No, fuck, I know, it’s Papyrus! Shit, please don’t hang up on me again!”

So they did actually know him. Papyrus couldn’t say the same. He was pretty sure he didn’t know anyone who swore that much. “Who are you?”

“Um. Fuck. This is…it’s complicated. You don’t remember me? No, damnit, of course you don’t.”

Papyrus’s legs were feeling weak again, so he dropped into the nearest chair as the stranger mumbled to themself. They sounded flustered, unprepared. Papyrus supposed after 87 calls they hadn’t expected to finally get through.

They were someone he wouldn’t remember? Papyrus clenched his jaw uneasily. “Are you…from the lab?”

“No,” the stranger said instantly, then, “Wait. Yes. That’s an easier way to…I’m someone who knows about the timelines. I know about Gaster.”

The name jolted Papyrus to his core. He’d been ready to disbelieve the stranger’s half-assed assertion as to their identity, but that name…

“I need to tell you something really important, and it won’t make sense but I swear it’s true,” the stranger rushed on quickly. “You’re in danger. You have to leave. You can feel it, right? How something’s been off ever since you woke up? Something you don’t remember, but it scares the shit out of you.”

Papyrus jolted, clutching the phone tighter. He hadn’t thought of it in precisely those terms, thinking the way his soul clenched was from nerves or illness, but…was it fear?”

“Get out of the house,” The voice continued breathlessly. “Go to the door in the ruins and beg the dude behind it to let you in. Tell him it’s an emergency. Tell him anything! Just get behind that door and stay there!”

Papyrus’s soul was racing a mile a minute. It sounded unthinkable, ridiculous, but the utter seriousness of the voice on the phone implied the stranger absolutely believed every word they said. Reeling, all he could think to say was, “How do you know about the door?”

There as a short silence full of blatant indecision before the other admitted, “You told me about it.”

He had? But he didn’t remember. Did that mean… “In another timeline?”

“Yeah. Look, I’d come to help, but every time this shit resets I have’ta fix the machine again and…I’m not gonna get there in time. Tell me you’re gonna go.”

The surly tone sounded halfway between a threat and a plea.Papyrus wasn’t sure what to tell him. He was scrambling to figure out what questions he should ask. The warning crackle of his broken speaker suggested he might not have much longer to do so.

One stuck out as both insignificant and extremely important. “What’s your name?”

“…Red. You call me Red.”

Another odd pause. The phrasing was unusual, and Papyrus suspected the other was circumventing the truth somehow but wasn’t sure why.

“Red. Okay. And you’re…my friend?”

Red let out a sharp bark of strangely bitter laughter. Papyrus flinched, immediately hating himself for the pitiful,, stupid question until Red breathed, “Yeah. We were friends. We are friends. I don’t wanna see bad shit happen to you again, Stretch.”

There was that nickname again. Maybe it was some silly friendship thing where they had ridiculous names for each other. Somehow that, more than the anguish in Red’s voice, decided him.

“Okay. I’ll go,” Papyrus said, trying to sound reassuring, but his voice quavered weakly. “I’ll take my bro and-”

“NO!” The shout made the speaker buzz warningly, and Papyrus flinched, shocked. “You can’t! I swear Pap, you can’t wait for him, you have to GO.”

“But-”

“I know he’s your bro, but…trust me, please trust me, he can’t come with you or you’ll-”

Papyrus waited a moment, thinking Red was trying to articulate whatever it was that was about to happen, but the silence dragged on. “Red? You there?”

No answer. Pap looked at the phone. The screen had finally gone dark, and no amount of button pushing or shaking would revive it.

“Fuck,” he swore, and then grimaced. Red was a bad influence. Sans would chide him for using such crude language.

For a long minute, he couldn’t bring himself to do anything, hoping desperately that somehow Red’s voice would come back, or Sans would come through the door – just some outside impetus to spur him into action – but cold dread was creeping over him and he came to the unpleasant conclusion that he’d actually have to act on his own without anyone pushing him to do it.

Because he believed Red. More than he wanted to. Something was wrong. Something had happened, or was about to happen, and his soul was sick with the horror of it. He couldn’t believe he was contemplating leaving Sans behind to face whatever it was alone, but Red had sounded so sure…

And he said he was a friend. Did he know that Papyrus didn’t really have any other friends? Aside from the person behind the door whose face he’d never seen, and Papyrus wasn’t certain if that could be fully counted as a friendship.

Once he ‘fixed his machine’, or whatever he needed to do, surely Red would try to contact him again and Papyrus could ask more questions. Until then, he just had to trust this tentative revelation of a new friendship and do what Red asked.

He had to leave.

Though he couldn’t do it right this second – not unless he wanted to walk out into the snow with nothing but a blanket. Lurching upward, he forced his clumsy legs to co-operate and dragged himself back up the stairs and into his room to find some proper clothing.

He paused on the threshold, bewildered. His room had…changed. His mattress was gone, as was all his clutter; the honey bottles, the socks, the car magazines he liked to collect. Everything was missing, and the floor had been covered with an opaque, plastic tarp. Papyrus gaped at it, trying to rationalise its purpose. Maybe Sans was worried about him making another mess? Maybe the mattress had been ruined? Maybe Sans had cleaned up to be helpful? Even so, it seemed a little…extreme. And something about the tarp made him feel incredibly uneasy, his soul churning so violently it was almost painful.

He really, really had to leave.

Walking tentatively over the tarp as if it was one of his brother’s puzzles, Papyrus made his way to the closet. Thankfully, Sans hadn’t also emptied it out, so he hastily pulled on a fresh set of clothing and even deigned to drag on his sneakers instead of the sandals he lazily resorted to. He glanced over the meager remnants of his possessions, wondering if he he should bring anything else, but panic was starting to sink its teeth into him and he decided none of it was worth spending any additional time to gather it up. He quickly hurried out, trying to keep his breathing steady and under control. He couldn’t tell if it was Red’s desperation infecting him, but he could almost feel the noose of unknown danger closing around him like a tangible vice.

He would have left immediately, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do so without leaving Sans at least a note. He scribbled one hurriedly, barely able to decipher his own writing, and left it on the coffee table in easy sight. He didn’t want Sans to worry, and he also didn’t want to just abandon his brother. Sans didn’t know about the door, but Papyrus left vague instructions about heading deeper into the forest, past Papyrus’s sentry station, if he absolutely needed help.

With that done, he left the house, careful to lock the door behind him just in case. Normally he’d just take a short-cut immediately to the door, but he knew immediately his magic wouldn’t be up to the task. Not after expunging so much through his illness, and the lingering traces of Sans’s medicine had left him feeling dizzy. He didn’t want to chance slipping through the void and coming out in the wrong place.

So instead he walked, albeit swiftly, through the town. His long legs could eat up distance at a rapid pace when he was properly motivated, and Red’s words were effectively haunting him.

I don’t want to see bad shit happen to you again, Stretch.

Again. So it had already happened once, and Red knew about it because of the looping timelines. Papyrus wondered what ‘it’ was. The anomaly? A human? Something else? It frustrated him that Red had been so vague, and he’d gotten the impression it had been very deliberate. Red hadn’t wanted to tell him exactly what the danger was, and Papyrus could only wonder why.

He’d have to ask later, once he managed to get on the other side of the door…if he got there. The man in the Ruins had never shown an inclination to meet face-to-face, but then Papyrus had never asked. He’d have to talk his way through as best he could, and then hope Red would know how to find him.

Something rustled through the underbrush as Papyrus entered the forest, making him start. He found himself looking around warily, but no danger presented itself. Trying to shake off the ominous feeling, he walked onward, though now his steps were slower, more cautious. He suddenly realised how unpleasant it felt, being out in the open and alone, with no idea of what might be coming for him, only a certainty that it was.

“Damn,” he muttered, absently scrubbing sweat from his brow. He still felt ill, weak and shaky. His magic certainly wouldn’t be up to defending him if he needed it. So much of his attention was going into keeping himself upright and moving that not nearly enough was being spared to keep tabs on his surroundings. That turned out to be a vital mistake as he rounded the thicket near his sentry station, only minutes away from reaching the door.

“Brother.”

Papyrs stumbled, spinning around so abruptly he nearly slipped on the snow underfoot. Sans was standing behind him, breathing hard. He must have run to catch up to Papyrus, but instead of showing concern or confusion, but his face was oddly expressionless. His sockets were empty. The look made Papyrus’s soul heave, like it wanted him to throw up again. He desperately swallowed it back. “Bro-”

“Where were you going, Papy?” Sans asked, but his tone was so wrong. Flat and cold; brittle. How had he known where Papyrus was? Had he seen the note? Was he mad about something?

Papyrus tried for a reassuring smile. It felt more like a defense mechanism, trying to placate whatever awful emotion made Sans sound like that. “I just…something came up, bro, and I have to go check it out. I’ll be back in a couple of days, I promi-”

“You promise?” Sans hissed, his eyelights suddenly visible as narrow, dangerous slits in his sockets. “Like you promised to stay in bed?”

Papyrus didn’t think now would be the time to mention he hadn’t explicitly promised anything. Sans’s voice was so harsh he found himself unconsciously backing away, putting more distance between them.

It didn’t help. Sans began stalking closer, his hands tightened into fists. “Like you promised to be good!? Like you promised to stay with me!?”

“I didn’t-” Papyrus tried to protest, stumbling backwards again, and this time he did fall, landing on his tailbone. He barely felt the pain. His entire being was focused on Sans, wondering how his small, adorable brother could look so terrifying.

“You just don’t remember,” Sans intoned, standing over Papyrus. He looked down at his shaking brother, and finally something softened in his expression, sympathy and compassion shining through. “It’s okay, Papy. I know you didn’t mean it. You love me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Papyrus agreed fervently, knowing that anything else would be the wrong answer. It was true, though. He loved Sans, even if his brother was currently scaring the crap out of him. He’d never seen Sans act this way.

Sans smiled beatifically. “I love you too.”

Then he lifted his leg and savagely stomped on Papyrus’s ankle, crunching the bone beneath his boot heel.

The pain was immediate and unbearable. Papyrus screamed, trying to jerk his leg free only to feel blue magic tighten around his soul, holding him in place as he thrashed. His struggles only compounded the damage, and he felt his fibula twisting unnaturally, before snapping clean through. His tibia was sturdier, but not enough to withstand the force Sans applied to it. Papyrus could feel it cracking open, spilling marrow and magic out onto the snow.

He wheezed, trying to draw another breath to scream again, but his chest seized and refused to aid his inhale. He could only gasp thinly, shuddering in agony, tears pouring down his face as he stared up at Sans, who returned his gaze with blithe indifference.

“W-why…?”

“So you don’t leave again,” Sans said as if it was patently obvious. “You’re sick, Papy. You should be at home with me.”

He dropped down, straddling Papyrus’s waist. Papyrus instinctively flinched away, whimpering in terror, but Sans only cupped his skull carefully between his gloved hands. “I promised I’d take care of everything. I’ll be the best brother, Papy, the only one you need.”

Papyrus head was spinning. He was in so much pain, and he was so very, very scared. Sans’s voice was gentle and soothing but all Papyrus could think about was summoning a bone attack and swatting his brother away. He tried to call one up between his fingers, but his magic just fizzled weakly. He couldn’t focus, not between the pain and the lingering effects of the–

–the medicine. Oh god. What had Sans really dosed him with?

“Blue, please, it hurts,” he whimpered, pleaded. His ankle needed healing. He was almost grateful that with Sans in the way, he couldn’t see it. Feeling it was terrible enough. He wasn’t sure how well his foot was still holding on when his talus felt like broken grit barely held in place by his magic. He could feel his HP dropping further, having already taken a significant dip from his earlier sickness and Sans’s initial blow.

Sans froze, his grip tightening. “What did you call me?”

Papyrus blinked, dazed. He hadn’t even noticed the slip. Why had he called his brother Blue when he’d only ever used Sans, Sansy or Bro before. His thoughts must have been addled by the pain, but somehow the name felt oddly nostalgic. Familiar. Appropriate.

Sans clearly didn’t think so. His grip tightened to a painful intensity, to the point Papyrus was worried his brother might just twist his skill right off his spine. “Don’t…don’t call me that.”

Papyrus reached up, hoping to dislodge Sans’s fingers which were scouring lines of dust down his cranium, but Sans reacted instantly, grabbing his hand and twisting it violently. The invisible ligaments that held his fingers in place were stretched obscenely, fraying, but stayed barely intact, keeping his phalanges from outright falling off. His metacarpals weren’t so lucky, two of them breaking under Sans’s vicious grip.

“Don’t-” Sans repeated in a terrible voice, ignoring Papyrus’s howl of anguish. He let go of Papyrus’s broken metacarpals to seize his wrist, “-call me-” another snap of broken bone, “-Blue!” He moved up from the now mangled hand, bending Papyrus’s radius until the bone warped and splintered, “I’m SANS! I’m YOUR SANS. You don’t need any of the others! You don’t need anyone but ME!”

He moved methodically up Papyrus’s arm, crushing, twisting, breaking until the agony was so intense Papyrus felt almost divorced from his body. The world felt surreal, nonsensical, and with each fracture of bone, brutal slivers of memory began piercing through the haze; fragments of the previous timeline.

The phantom twitches of his missing leg when Blue had sawed it off, having warned Papyrus what would happen if he tried to run again.

The burning, maddening heat of a flame being applied to his phalanges for daring to ask for a cigarette, watching the bone blacken and char.

The excruciating feeling of each tooth being pulled out one at a time when Papyrus had refused Blue’s cooking, hoping to starve.

The feeling of his soul being crushed between Red’s fingers, his own too broken and useless to apply the mercy killing. Tears in Red’s eyes as he’d held Papyrus’s disfigured hand so tenderly it was nearly painless.

He was so overcome, he hadn’t even realised Sans had stopped until he felt himself being pulled off the ground into a suffocating embrace. It did nothing to chase away the horrible cold that seeped into him as his marrow dripped out onto the snow. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t fight. These was no escape.

“It’s okay, Papy,” Sans soothed, even as Papyrus sobbed weakly against him. “Everything’s going to be okay now. We’re going to start all over again, like new. This time they won’t take you away from me..”


End file.
